A New Beginning: Finding a way through Hurricane Helene
Asheville, North Carolina
As we roll into 2025 we embrace a new beginning. We look for the positive, for the silver linings in this post-Helene world of Asheville and hope that with time those affected by its unyielding force can and will recover.
On September 26th 2024 Bryan and I had no idea what was coming. I was busy at work with client emails, scheduling meetings, and planning for projects for the last quarter of the year. We all were looking forward to carving pumpkins and planning our costumes while Bryan was down at the shop in the River Arts District prepping for about five feet of water as a worst possible outcome. Bryan and I, both highly organized planners, were trying to prepare for something we couldn’t see coming.
As the rain got heavier and the roads along the river began to flood, Bryan headed home to hunker down the storm with his family. We felt the shop was secure and the only flooding would be in the typical places we’d seen it flood before, shutting down Riverside Drive in a few places. We could not fathom just how powerful and wide-spreading the river would get over the next few days. Bryan was completely unaware that it was the last time he’d ever see our shop space, organize its contents, or touch the beautiful walnut slab dining table ready for delivery- which he refer’s to as the most beautiful piece he’s ever made.
After a night of trying to keep the water in the basement of our house at bay, we are exhausted. Our daughter, mostly unaware of the magnitude of what’s happening around us eats an early breakfast at the dining table, the very first Mercer Dining Table made by her Dad out of flat sawn white oak. Bryan looks out the window into the backyard at the giant red oak tree behind her and asks, “Does it look like that tree is leaning?” My mind and mouth both say “No way”.
It’s impossible. A tree that sturdy could never fall. Just like entire towns could never just wash away or enormous buildings could never be engulfed by water or swept off their foundations. It just isn’t plausible in my mind. We stare at the tree for a few more seconds straining to see movement in the trunk. “I should go move the work van just incase”, he says as he sits on the walnut bench he made over ten years ago and starts to put on his work boots. With one boot on, a large gust of wind pushes the giant oak tree. I scream for our daughter to move away from the window as what I thought could never fall crushes our work van and hits the top of our neighbors house. I immediately call them to make sure their family is okay.
The power goes out. Our phones stop working. The water shuts off.
Things are forever changed.
Information is now difficult to come by and once the storm passes we all go outside and try to figure things out by walking around talking to neighbors. Our brains desperately try to understand what has happened. We search for some kind of cell signal to let family know we are ok. Looking for water, internet, and gas takes up most of our daily hours. We endure about 5 days of this until I tell Bryan we have to evacuate. The neighborhood pulls together as we pool resources and try to syphon gas from our work van, stuck under a tree, hoarding 18 gallons of gas, a very valuable resource at this point. After many failed attempts, due to modern anti-syphoning devices, we are out of luck. We are all desperate for a shower and the nights are getting long and dark. I walk through the neighborhood trying to find a grocery store that is open or a wifi connection. I go to the community garden at the church where we volunteer on Saturdays and look through the rows. Tomatoes, eggplant, peppers.. I pick as many as I can and walk back to our street. I knock on doors and offer what I’ve found to anyone who would like some.
We know we need to leave. What we don’t know, during this first week, is that we are some of the lucky ones. We are completely unaware of the devastation around us, the towns that are gone, the homes that are destroyed, the lives that have been lost. We don’t know that this storm is now the worst national disaster in the US since Katrina. We don’t know that our business is gone, our community is decimated, and that the work ahead of us is unfathomable. The other thing we don’t know is that Bryan’s sisters are 3 days in to setting up a GoFundMe to help us rebuild because they know everything we don’t. They know we can’t do what needs to be done alone and when all is said and done, it is that quickness and that foresight that saves our business, our livelihood, our family. Something else we don’t know yet.
A neighbor down the street, a prominent member of the community, a good friend, a fellow small business owner, a guy that always “knows a guy” drives back and forth non-stop from Asheville to Charlotte bringing in supplies to solely help others. Asheville is filled with these types of people and a saying very quickly begins to spread; Thank God Asheville has Asheville. This neighbor checks in on everyone, watches over the security of our homes, and even finds a way to get our trash to the dump. He sees us struggle for days to find gas so we can evacuate to a friend’s place in Virginia. He stops on our street, leans out the window of his white pickup truck, and sees the stress in my face. He turns to Bryan and says “Give me an hour and I’ll be back with some gas for you”. He returns just as he says and we are elated. He doesn’t want to be paid for any of it. It’s just the person he is, but we end up dropping a case of his favorite beer by his house when we later return to Asheville.
We say our good-byes. The caravan of neighbors leaving our street disperse and we head to Virginia praying we make it to a gas station on the way that doesn’t have a days-long line. We are dirty and frazzled, our bodies pumping with adrenaline that will continue for the next month or so. We arrive in Virginia at a friend’s family home smack dab in the middle of a cattle farm. The Blue Ridge Mountains, sky, and cows are all you can see. It is a welcome site, a calming space, and I don’t leave my computer at the kitchen bar-top for four days. Our daughter is glued to her tablet. Bryan lets family know we are okay, makes sure we are eating, and that I have everything I need to begin saving our business.
It’s funny what you are drawn to during times of urgency and adrenaline. For me it was the Philadelphia Phillies. I’ve never been a baseball person, but most days around 5 pm I would move a few feet to a small round table and watch the Phillies playoff games with Bryan, a huge fan and my personal instructor on all Philly sports related information. Focusing on a large screen tv mounted in the corner and a beer in my hand, I would momentarily forget about everything we lost, forget about the destruction and not knowing if we would be able to stay or even return to Asheville. I’d route for our team, take a sip of my beer, and comment on what the team was eating - sunflower seeds, gum, mystery snacks- so much nervous chewing or anxious movements over the plate. I very much can relate.
I’m grateful for the days we had in Virginia and that we had that option, unlike many others. This blessing was not lost on us. We have a tremendous support system around us, stronger then we ever could have imagined. We decided to head back after a week once we heard the power and internet were back on. We returned to Asheville and began rebuilding KERR Woodworking.
Three months later we have secured a new space, replaced most of our tools, supplies, equipment, and work van. A year or two worth of work crammed into twelve weeks. Non-stop, day and night, around the clock work. We are grateful that we made it. We are grateful to everyone who helped make it happen. Hundreds of people had a hand in us rebuilding, tool reps, electricians, friends, family, colleagues, donors… too many to count. And as 2025 progresses, we hope to recover, get stronger, and be in a position to offer help to others anyway we can. We are excited to begin building beautiful furniture again and the opportunity to share it with everyone.
